Why?
by NLJones22
Summary: A short Leroux phic, not finished yet but I'm getting stuck for ideas. Feel free to give me some serious pull up on any mistakes I've made first Leroux phic I've written. Basically set after Phantom of the Opera. [b]Chapter 2 now up[b]
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1: Erik**

Erik muttered to himself as he stalked through some of the passageways that were deserted. The passageways of his Opera House. O yes the shows were on again. New managers, no money though. No box 5. No nothing. He hadn't asked for them. He hadn't asked for them as there was no point. There was no point and there was no Christine. There was no Christine as she was happy with the Vimcote de Chagny. There was no Daragoa either. There was no Daragoa as Erik had almost drowned him. Erik had almost drowned him as he was with the Vimcote de Chagny whom Erik hated and hated very much. The Daragoa had been with the Vimcote de Chagny as Erik had abducted Christine. Erik had abducted Christine as he loved her like he could love no other.

"Here we go again," Erik muttered to himself.

Same old self torment. Same old self blame. Same old everything. Why could he not die? He didn't know why. He just couldn't die yet. He couldn't bring himself to kill himself. Why? Probably because he no longer had the mental strength left to even hurt himself. Why? He didn't know the answer to that one. Why? He didn't know the answer to that either. There was no Madame Giry or Meg Giry around either. He winced as he heard the song beginning. Why? Because the person singing it was a poor singer. Why? Because no one could match Christine Daae's voice.

"Why do you increase your torment by just asking yourself "why?"?" Erik asked himself.

Probably because he had nothing left to do. With Christine gone he'd lost everything. Even what little sanity he had left. He hadn't even finished his Don Juan, his lifework. He didn't have the heart for it. Slowly he slipped back to his house by the lake via the Communists Road. There he picked up his hat, and mask, and cloak. Slipping his mask on he settled the hat so that it would cast a shadow over much of his face. Then he swung his cloak round himself to hide how painfully thin he was. Then he left the Opera House to go and see a dear friend of his. The dear Daragoa.

**Part 2: Daragoa.**

The Daragoa, or the Persian as some called him, walked around his apartment. He couldn't understand it. Why was he suddenly so nervous? His thoughts as always drifted over to Erik. He'd never seen the man so broken. He didn't doubt that Erik would die soon; he'd probably die of love. Christine had destroyed his heart…a heart that had already been partially broken. Although in front of the Vimcote he'd called Erik a monster, and in some way he was, he was a broken monster.

After all that Erik had done, he still couldn't help but pity him. Erik was a genius, that was indeed true. No one could deny that either. But not even being a genius could keep one's sanity. Erik had always longed to be loved. His habit of bragging about his tricks no doubt gave him a feeling of being loved…for a short while. Yet not even that would last for ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

**Thanks to ****Bergerac****for the review. I'm glad you are enjoying it.**

**Part 2: Daragoa Continued**

The Daragoa couldn't help but jump slightly as his servant told him someone wished to see him. The man was curious as to why the stranger wouldn't reveal his face. He was slightly surprised, for the Daragoa could see it in his face, at the order to let him in. By matter of a decision that he was determined to keep, and not allow the stranger, whom he was fairly certain was Erik, to see his nerves, he took a seat in the window. He looked as the tall stranger entered the room, noticed how he waited till the servant had left, and even then just removed his hat.

As he had thought it was Erik. He recognised the mask immediately, masking the fact he had no nose –the mask itself was simply shaped to make it seem like he had a nose – and the pale skin colour of the little skin the mask didn't hide. Also, how could you mistake those glowing eyes, those golden eyes that he knew could burn. If anyone was a person from Hell it was surely Erik, if anyone was one of Hells worse monsters it would surely be Erik, yet the sight of him, still sorrowing from losing Christine was enough to make the hardest heart crumble.

"You wished to speak with me…Erik?" Daragoa started – he paused though as Erik slumped onto a seat, it would seem what Christine had done to him had hurt him so bad.

As he looked a bit more intently he saw that if anything Erik had become thinner – if that was at all possible. It was true that as the Daragoa had been passing the Opera House there had been none of the usual rumours about the dreadful Death Head of the Opera Ghost, but he just had assumed that Erik had been keeping quiet. Yet surely he, who possibly knew Erik the best should have realised that something was wrong when the new managers weren't fuming about either Erik's salary requests…or his preference of box 5.

**Erik (again) :-P**

Wearily Erik looked up at the Daragoa. He noticed how he flinched away from his eyes, his golden eyes, the golden eyes that burnt. Yet they were just a faint sparkle now, no where near as strong as they once were. He was hurting, and hurting from lost rejected love. Something he would never get over. Something he would never had a chance to get over. He was dieing and he knew it.

"Dear Daragoa, still scared of me I notice," Erik said softly, and his voice was nothing more then a soft, quiet whisper. "Still scared of me, a dieing Opera Ghost…no more will I be wreaking havoc or scaring the ballet dancers, no more, no more, no more,"

This seemed to start the Daragoa out of how he'd sat frozen. Erik was dieing? He had known it would be coming, yet him dieing and admitting that? Erik regarded the Daragoa out of his strange golden eyes, that once could burn with the fury of hell, yet were now just a small spark.

"You think it is just one more game I am playing; I can see it in your eyes. Would I bother doing that with one who knows me so well? Perhaps Christine to try and get her pity and to try and get her back with me, but no doubt the Vimcote would kill me, but one who knows me so well? Please, Daragoa, dieing I may be but I would not lose my senses that I would try and fool and play games with one who knows me well, who knows me from Persia and the rosy hours of Mazenderan


End file.
